


Still Waters

by sogno



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:16:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22919818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sogno/pseuds/sogno
Summary: I'm a seamstress at a local shop that Mr. Thomas Shelby frequents. I see bits and pieces into his life, until one day, I can't close my eyes anymore, and I see it all.Note: this most likely will contain mature/explicit scenes. There will be warnings in the chapter heading when it occurs. Second, I don't have a regular schedule of updating and am rather slow, but I am still intending to write this.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 159





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just want to say thanks for giving this a chance! This piece is based only on the first season of Peaky Blinders.

I can’t remember when I first saw Mr. Thomas Shelby, it was years ago. Before the war, at least. I was a child, then, maybe 12 or so. He would come into father’s shop to order suits, but father never let me idle around the front of the shop when he came. I peered round the door, curious to see what he would order this time, a pinstriped wool suit, a stiff cotton shirt, or perhaps he needed his favorite suit carefully washed after getting it dirty. After the war, he rarely smiled or laughed, but sometimes I thought I could catch a glimmer of something as he put on a new suit for the first time, admiring its crispness and how it fitted him perfectly.

He had very particular tastes. He only ever frequented our shop. My parents sewed most of his requests personally, and would seldom ask for my help. I knew they hated seeing me sewing, they had always wanted better for me, but business was hard and growing up, they always needed an extra pair of hands in the shop.

We had lately just finished a three-piece herringbone suit for Mr. Shelby, which he picked up that afternoon. My parents had not had a prolonged break in a few days and decided to leave the shop to run errands that evening. The two other workers we employed, a tailor and seamstress, had also taken off for the day. I waved my parents off from the shop, and took up the broom in the sewing room to clean up the loose threads and fabric scraps that had fluttered to the floor.

There was some wetness on the floor, from further inspection, it was some tea father had drank earlier and must have spilled. I bent down with a cloth to wipe it up, when I heard a distant rap on the front door to our shop. It was nearly eight o’clock at night, and we had not been expecting anyone. I put the cloth down, and called out. "Be right there!” I slipped a long needle used for sewing leathers into my dress pocket, just in case.

Icy blue eyes reflected the light from inside the shop. In his hands was a package. I recognized him immediately, and unlocked the door. “Mr. Shelby, good evening.”

I realized this was the first time I had ever spoken to him. He seemed to realize that too. He walked in, his blue eyes seeming to bore into my own eyes. I looked away, nervous, very aware that my parents were not there. They would always speak in hushed tones about the Shelby family, and I knew they never paid for any of the suits they took away.

“Are you their daughter?” His voice was deep, but also curiously quiet. I noticed he did not blink much. It was disquieting.

I nodded.

“When will they be back?” He asked.

“Probably in an hour or so.” I took a small breath. “If I can help you, I’d be happy to.”

“The suit I’ve picked up yesterday— it’s tight around my shoulders.” He handed me the package in his hands. It was one of our suit bags, I hadn’t recognized it in the dark.

I willed myself to be professional. I hung it up on a rack, and unzipped the bag.

“Mr. Shelby, may I ask you to wear it?” I held my hands out to receive his coat and suit jacket that he was wearing. He nodded, and undressed. I hung up his clothes slowly, because I had an irrational fear of damaging them somehow.

I handed him the herringbone suit jacket. He put it on. Just from a visual inspection, I could tell that the shoulder line was ever so slightly shorter than his actual shoulders. I asked if he could hold his arms up, he obliged briefly. The arm holes also seemed to be too high, reducing his flexibility.

“Mr. Shelby, I apologize on behalf of our shop for giving you a suit that does not fit you. Perhaps your measurements have changed since we last took them.” He pursed his lips. “Would you be willing to be measured? We will have the jacket ready as soon as we can. Again, we are deeply sorry.”

“Can you have the jacket ready by tomorrow afternoon?” He said.

We would have to stay up all night, but it could be done. “Yes,” I said.

“Well, then.” I started to go to the sewing room, and he followed. On my own sewing desk, I picked up my measuring tape, a pencil, and a small notebook.

I started with his shoulder measurements. As I leaned in, I could smell whiskey and smoke. I then wrapped the measuring tape around his chest, followed by his shoulder to his arm, the length of his torso, and his neck. His breathing was never anything but calm, slow, but I could hear my heart pounding through my chest. I wanted it to be over soon, the almost empty nature of his eyes made me feel uncomfortable.

While I wrote down the measurements in my book. They had changed only slightly, but evidently it mattered to Thomas Shelby.

He said something. I was startled, and said stupidly, “What?”

“I said, what do you do around here? This is my first time seeing you ‘round.”

“Um, I do everything really. Probably the thing I do most is embroidery.”

“The initials embroidered in my suits? Is that you?”

“For the last few years, yes… I think.”

I led him to the front of the shop again, and handed him his suit jacket and coat. “Have a good evening, Mr. Shelby, we will have your jacket ready by tomorrow afternoon.”

As he shut the door behind him, I let out a small sigh. He wasn’t terribly scary, just unsettling. I never knew when I said the right thing, said too much, or said too little. When my parents came back, I told them immediately what had happened.

My mother was the first to respond. “We should not have left Moli at home alone! Next time one of us should stay. Who knows what could have happened?”

My father nodded grimly. “I know you are of age, and a prudent daughter, but know that the women of your age who interact with the Shelbys are all whores. It’s best to stay away, and count your lucky stars that he was not interested in you beyond the suit.”

They got to work on the jacket, sewing long into the night. They told me to rest, and I went to bed, eager to keep reading the book I had borrowed from the library, _The Jungle_ by Upton Sinclair. I could not keep my eyes open for very long, and as I fell asleep, I wondered if Thomas Shelby had ever heard of Jurgis Rudkis.


	2. Chapter 2

Mother and father had already finished his suit jacket by the time I had woken up, even the embroidery. Besides some regular chores for the shop, there was not much for me to do into the afternoon. I let my parents know that I’d return a book I had lately finished and come back when the sun had set, about two hours from now.

The library was a few streets over, so my parents never raised much objection to my going. It was one of the few places I could go without having someone accompany me.

I put on my hat and a shawl, and set out. After walking for a brief moment, I heard a “Halloo!” from behind me. I turned to see Henry bounding towards me. His father owned a haberdashery on the same street, and growing up, Henry and I would frequently play together. As we grew older, we still talked to each other quite often. As first generation Chinese-English whose parents also owned a clothing shop, we had a lot of the overlapping thoughts about our futures. He had a mop of black, curly hair, with eyes that were perpetually smiling. As usual, he had a smart-looking cap on.

“Where’re you off to?” Henry said. He looked at the book in my hand. “The library?”

“Yes, going to borrow another book to read. How’s it been at the shop?”

Henry shrugged his shoulders. “Same old, same old. Orders have picked up since it’s getting colder. One of our men got the gout and couldn’t work anymore, so father’s been having a field day training a new apprentice. How’s your shop doing?”

“Thomas Shelby came by last night to get another suit jacket because the shoulders didn’t fit. I had to take his new measurements myself since my parents were out shopping.” I lowered my voice. “Have you ever dealt with the Shelbys? I know they like the hats your shop makes.”

Henry shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around. “Yes, no incidents but… it’s tense sometimes. We supply them until the next gang comes along, I guess. Shelbys, Lees, whatever…”

He leaned in. “You know, I heard Tommy Shelby came by the other day to the street over to visit the fortune teller. You know, to bless his race horse. Some of us are thinking to bet on it, what do you think?”

“I’m not sure, I’ve never had money enough to bet.”

Henry laughed, and checked his pocket watch. “As always, Mollie, the sober voice of reason. I’ve got to get going, I’ve got to pick up some materials from the docks before it closes for the day.”

“All right, I’ll see you around, Henry.”

“Catch you later.” Henry tipped his hat, and hurried around the corner.

I continued behind Henry, though at a slower pace. After five or so minutes, I reached the library. The librarian at the front desk was someone I knew well, Miss Kathleen. I handed the book to her, she smiled, and said, “Finished _North and South_ so quickly?”

“Yes! Even though it was written over 50 years ago, I felt as if it could have been written about today, especially the parts about the workers organizing, and a new middle class rising out of industry.”

“But the romance?” Miss Kathleen raised her eyebrows.

I smiled. “I enjoyed that too. It made me feel almost juvenile for liking Mr. Darcy so passionately.”

“Don’t say that! I’d like to think Mr. Darcy in Mr. Thornton’s situation would have produced just as fine of an outcome.”

“Perhaps you have a point, then. Mr. Darcy is certainly honorable and hard-working.” Who could resist the allure of such a large estate as Mr. Darcy’s? Such pin-up money! However juvenile I felt about liking Mr. Darcy, I still liked him.

“But! Now that you have finished those two great works, I have another to recommend: _Jane Eyre_.” Miss Kathleen reached underneath the desk, and pulled it out. “I even took the liberty of putting it aside for you.”

I thanked her profusely, and she checked it out for me. I left immediately, eager to start reading it as I would have an uninterrupted evening to read it.

The wind had picked up suddenly, and my hat fluttered. Though it was pinned to my hair, I put my free hand over it, the other hand clutching my book. The wind blew particularly hard at one point, so much so that I could hardly walk against it. I braced myself, but the wind ended almost as suddenly as I braced myself. I stumbled backwards.

I felt that I touched something behind me. I quickly straightened up and turned around, readying myself to apologize.

It was those lifeless blue eyes again. He was not much taller than me, but I felt small as he looked at me. “…I’m sorry for bumping into you, Mr. Shelby. Please forgive me.”

In his hands was the suit bag, presumably the suit jacket. He studied me for a moment. “You said you do everything. Do you wash clothes?”

“Yes, I can, but I don’t do it very frequently… probably it’s best to go to the washer women on Linden Street?”

He shook his head. “You can keep your mouth shut, can’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. Shelby.” How could I answer something else?

“Come with me.”

He led the way, and we walked in silence. Trailing behind him, I kept an eye out for the streets we traversed, making sure that I knew the way back. I thought back to my father, and the comment he made about the women around the Shelbys being whores. But, I consoled myself. I conjectured he wanted me to wash some of his clothes secretly, and I didn’t dare to say no to him at the moment. I would wash the clothes quickly, and leave.

We arrived at his house, presumably, and he opened the door, barely holding the door open for me. It was dark and musty inside, though decorated sumptuously, from what I could see. There were a few papers strewn here and there, but it was neat overall. His voice called from another room. “In here.”

Out of a box, he pulled out a black striped shirt and a blue shirt, both stained dark red in several spots. He also pulled out a handkerchief with a rose embroidery, almost completely stained dark red. I knew immediately that they must have all been stained by blood.

“Are you all right, Mr. Shelby?”

His eyes briefly flickered. He pursed his lips, “I’m fine. Wash these, now. Washing materials are in the laundry alcove in the kitchen.”

With my book tucked under my shoulder, I took the items, and walked to the kitchen. Opening the door to the alcove, I found the tub, washboard, some Sunlight soap, a blue bag, and a few other scrubbers. None of this would really help getting rid of the dried blood stains.

I walked back into the house. He was now poring over some notebooks in the study. “Excuse me, Mr. Shelby, do you have any hydrogen peroxide?”

“Whatever is out there is what I have. Is it necessary?”

“Yes…” I took a deep breath. “Would you give me some shillings to purchase it at the chemist’s down the street?”

“How do I know you won’t run off with the money?”

I took out the book tucked underneath my shoulder. “I will come back for this book, at least.”

He put a few shillings on his desk, which I slipped into my dress pocket. “You're a good girl, aren't you? You'd best come back quickly, if you know what's good for you,” he said.

I walked briskly to the chemist, and purchased the hydrogen peroxide. I racked my brain. My mother had washed some items that were blood-stained before. Probably from a Shelby, no doubt. I remembered that first she would scrape off any of the crusty blood, and then she would soak the clothing in water. Was it hot water? Cold water? I didn’t remember grumbling over fetching boiling water, so probably it was cold water. The hydrogen peroxide came next, with some Sunlight soap, and then endless scrubbing. Something like that. It would take an hour at least, and it was getting late. My parents would be worried.

I knocked on the door, which Thomas answered, to my surprise. But then, I hadn’t seen any servants.

He went back to his study; I got to washing the clothes. I assumed the laundry would have been done in the backyard, and dragged the tub and soap outside. I filled the tub with cold water from the outside faucet. I scraped off what blood I could, and soaked the clothes in cold water, changing the water when it became tinted pink. This took a few washes before the water ran clean.

I blotted the hydrogen peroxide on the stains, and it bubbled along. As I thought, the stains needed more attention. I scrubbed the clothes again, gently, alternating between the soap and hydrogen peroxide, until I could not see the stains anymore. The white handkerchief needed some blue rinse, so I emptied out the tub and filled it again with cold water. This time, the water was tinted blue as I swished around the handkerchief.

It was rather cold this time of year and late in the day to line dry outside, but luckily the small alcove also had a linen line, on which I hung the shirts and handkerchiefs. I left the tub underneath to catch the water.

I knocked on the door to his study, which was now almost fully shut. I could see wisps of smoke curling out the door. “Come in,” he said.

I came in, my back close to the door, trying to be as far away from the smoke as possible. “I’ve finished, it’s hanging in the alcove.” He nodded. “Did you want me to come back and iron?” He shook his head.

“You can show yourself out.” He went back to studying the handwritten books, deep in thought and in smoke clouds.

I shut the door behind me and looked at my watch. I had been gone for almost two hours, I needed to hurry to be home before the sun set, or my parents would worry.

I resolved not to tell them about this errand, because they would not let me go to the library by myself again. My parents were protective, but compared to the other Chinese families around, they at least trusted me enough to go to a few places by myself. I valued those moments where I could exist outside of the shop, just someone in the crowd, anonymous.

When I had reached the shop doors, I felt a sense of relief to see my parents' smiling faces through the window. They had not worried over my late return. But I still felt worried, and I could not shake the feeling through dinner. As I settled into bed, I reached towards my nightstand. _The Jungle_ tumbled to the floor as my memory jolted. For fuck’s sake, I had forgotten _Jane Eyre_ at Thomas fucking Shelby’s house.


	3. Chapter 3

I had resolved to go visit early in the morning before the shop opened, and see if there was anyone, really any servant that I could catch the attention of. Maybe even his secretary, if he had one. The Shelbys, even if wealthy by ill-gotten means, were still wealthy. I really doubted Thomas dusted his house himself, if anything, he did not seem like he would have the time.

Slipping out of the back door before the sun rose, I walked to his house. It was a bit chilly and some of the street lights were still on, but the factory men were already outside working at full tilt.

Thomas Shelby’s house had three floors, with many large windows that faced the street. Unluckily, but predictably, most of them seemed to be shrouded in curtains. The iron fence prohibited any entrance except from the front. I could barely see the windows on the side of the house.

I had three options. I could knock on the door and hope that someone would answer, but that ran the risk of Thomas Shelby answering. I could wait 10 minutes or so to see if anyone came in and out, and hopefully it would be someone I could approach. Of course, I could pay for the book to be replaced.

I decided that I might as well wait the 10 minutes since I was already there, and if I had to pay for the book, I had enough money saved up.

I situated myself in front of the iron fence, on the corner of the property, keeping an eye on the front doors. The bustle picked up as I stood there, cars exiting garages, women and children walking to the daily market, school. The street lights had all turned off at this point.

I could not wait any longer, I had to leave. I walked past the house, taking one last look through the curtain-shrouded windows.

I had almost traversed the length of the house when a window swung open on the first floor. I turned my head slightly, hoping that it was a servant airing out the first floor, and that I could catch their eye. But as I turned my head, I had a bad feeling, and felt it was better to keep walking.

A loud voice rang out after me. “There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning.”

I slowly turned around, willing myself to have a neutral expression. I walked to the window.

He was above me by a foot or so, leaning out the window, a book dangling out of his hands. He was wearing glasses, the first time I had ever seen him wear them.

“Washer girl, you left your book here yesterday.” Unexpectedly, he dropped the book below, and I just barely caught it as it fell. “I saw you standing on the corner there. You couldn’t have been more obvious than a crow wearing a dunce cap.”

“Thank you for returning the book to me.”

He considered me for a moment. I shifted my feet, unsure whether I should take my leave or wait until he dismissed me.

“You did say you’d be back for the book. Good girl.” The corners of lips twitched, but it was replaced by a pained expression. “Well, since you’re here, you might as well iron.”

I opened my mouth briefly, but thought better of it. I did not have the time, but again, I could not say no. I would just have to figure out an excuse once I headed back to the shop.

He let me in. I headed directly to the kitchen alcove, where the pieces are already dry. Luckily, he already had an electric iron, so I plugged that in, and got to ironing. I saw remains of a breakfast and tea, but the kitchen was clean. He must have a servant, somewhere. Once I finished, I went to his study, where he was smoking and reading that morning’s paper. He had opened the curtains to let in the early morning sunshine, and I saw next to him was a stack of books. I thought I could see the titles of _The Jungle_ , and _The History of the Standard Oil Company_.

“Excuse me, Mr. Shelby, where shall I put your clothes?”

“I’ll put them away myself.” He did not look up from his paper.

I was again, unsure, whether I was free to leave without his dismissal. I looked at the stack of books on his desk, not wanting to make eye contact.

After what seemed like a long time, he looked up again, eyes narrowed. “Yes? Why do you keep standing there? You’ve got your book, haven’t you? Leave.”

I was startled at his sharp tone. “I’m sorry, I was only…” I started to say, lifting my eyes to meet his, but I could not think of anything to say.

“…I was only wondering whether you had read _The Jungle_ , I recently read it too, and I…” but I faltered again seeing his face harden.

“I’m sorry, I’ll take my leave now.” 

I made sure I took _Jane Eyre_ , and I saw myself out. I shook my head as I walked down his steps. The mixture of being startled and having curiosity that Thomas Shelby actually cared about reading books felt awful and supremely awkward in retrospect. Embarrassed, I half-ran down the streets in order to get back to the shop. With a stroke of luck, I saw Henry in the street, carrying a few bags.

“Henry!” I cried, catching up to him. “I need you to do me a favor. Were you up early this morning?”

Henry looked at me in alarm. “Is everything okay, Mollie? You look quite pale!”

I caught my breath. “I’m all right! Were you up early this morning running an errand?”

“Yes, I was at the market fetching some chicken for today’s meal.” He held up his bags. “Two of Mr. Walsh’s finest hens!”

“Could you give me one of the hens, Henry? Please? As a favor? I’d pay you back tomorrow!”

Henry quickly nodded, and gave me one of the bags. “Tell me what happened later?”

“I will! Thank you so much, Henry!”

When I reached the shop, my parents were already outside the door. “Moli, where were you?” my mother said. “You didn’t even tell us you were going out this morning!” Her brow furrowed; she was angry. Father usually let mother took the lead, but I knew he was angry as well.

I bowed my head. “Sorry, mother, father. I went out with Henry early in the morning to the market to get you one of Mr. Walsh’s chickens. You know they are the best ones for making white-cut chicken! I just wanted to surprise you.” I held up the bag. My mother took it, her expression softening.

“Next time, you have to tell us you are going out! At least when you are with Henry, we won’t worry.” Mother took the bag. I could tell she was quite happy, actually. The way to my parents’ heart was food.

I went to the sewing room to put down my book, and figure out what I needed to do for the day. There were a few orders from ladies: some handkerchiefs with matching gloves, a few shawls, and a table cover. I had already drawn and illustrated their design patterns, which had been approved in consultations. They were long-time customers of our shop, and understood that it took time to create a well-stitched embroidery. Some also liked to stop in while the piece was being made, and perhaps change course if the physical piece had not matched their mental image.

The Miss Phillips sisters had indicated they wanted to pick up their handkerchiefs and gloves later this afternoon, so I got to work on them, and determined to finish them by midday.

When midday arrived, I ate lunch quickly with my parents, Wan, and Jie in the kitchen. Wan and Jie were the other tailor and seamstress that also worked in our shop.

I hurried to finish, so I could spend the remaining lunch time in my room, reading _Jane Eyre_. I began reading: “There was no possibility of taking a walk that day…”

“Moli!” My father called. “Where are you? The Miss Phillips are here to pick up their gloves.”

I sat up from my bed in a panic. I had read for too long, maybe an hour. I forgot that I had to get back to the sewing room. Fortunately, I had already packed and wrapped their items. I headed downstairs.

“Good afternoon, Miss Anne and Miss Maria.” I bowed my head in acknowledgement to both. I handed them their boxes. “Would you like to see them before you take them away?”

Miss Anne smiled. “Of course, we were thinking of wearing them right away!” Miss Anne set her box on the counter and opened it. The mother-of-pearl silk gloves glistened in the sun’s rays. The embroidery was delicate, soft, swirling flowers. Miss Maria’s set was similar, though in bluer tones.

“Your work is always so exquisite,” Miss Maria said. “Thank you, Mollie.” Miss Anne nodded. I helped them put their old gloves in the boxes and held the door open as they left.

My father was standing behind the counter. “Good job, Moli. They enjoyed your work.”

My father had taught me to embroider. His vision had deteriorated in the past few years, so he could no longer embroider as finely, and I had taken over most of that work for him. It was daunting at first, but trial by fire had been a speedy teacher.

I got started on the shawl that someone requested with their emerald green evening gown. It was to have a fantastic, large jewel-hued gold, green, and blue peacock. I bent over my work, engrossed, until it was time for dinner. My mother served the chicken, and I made sure my parents got the choicest bits. My parents had a few things to do after dinner in the shop, and I helped to clean up the front counter and pack away some fabrics.

Finally, I could retreat back to my room and keep reading. I kept on reading. I was about halfway through, when I turned the page, and an index card fell out. I picked it up. It was blank on one side, but something was messily scribbled on the other. I looked more closely, it was five digits. Five digits? A telephone number? My parents had gotten one installed recently to take orders. It had not been used much as many folks had not installed them yet, but for the convenience of some important clients, it was worth it.

Could it have been a previous library patron’s bookmark? Could it have been _Thomas Shelby’s_ bookmark? I shook my head, the latter seemed farfetched. Library books usually had a pouch containing a card with previous due dates written down. I opened the book to the front, and looked at that card carefully. It was blank save for my own due date. This was a library book no one had borrowed before.

My thoughts raced. Had he left this message _just for me_? Had he intended for me to call this number? To speak _to him_?

No, no, no, I said to myself. I couldn’t even string a few coherent sentences together in front of him. Perhaps the bookmark was left by another library patron, perhaps the card with previous due dates had gone missing or was filled in, so Miss Kathleen put in a new one. Perhaps this was actually Miss Kathleen’s bookmark. 

Still, my curiosity was piqued. At least I could ask Miss Kathleen if this was hers, or look it up in the Birmingham directory. I could go to the library after I paid a visit to Henry tomorrow to explain what had happened these few days. I tucked the index card back into the book and read a few more chapters before falling asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

The shop was not too busy today. I continued to work diligently on the large peacock shawl. My parents asked me to drop off a few packages in the afternoon, and I obliged. I let them know that I would stop by the library for a quick question and see Henry on the way back.

The packages were presumably for customers who did not live close enough to pick up their orders. After dropping them off, I hurried over to the library, index card tucked in my pocket.

Miss Kathleen was not at the front desk today, but a rather severe-looking woman with graying hair swept into an imperious bun.

“Excuse me, where can I find the phone directory for West Midlands?” The woman nodded, and got up out of her chair to fetch a thick book behind her on the shelf.

“Please use this at the front desk,” she said. “I will put it back once you are finished.”

“I understand,” I said, and moved further down the front desk next to the reading lamp. I opened the book, which was separated into two sections. The first section was looking up numbers by name of establishment, the other was looking up name of establishment by number. It was the latter I wanted, and I quickly flipped the pages until I found 14344.

I held my breath, sliding my finger from the number to the establishment it was listed under… Wolverhampton Racecourse. I had never heard of such a place, and it was certainly not Thomas Shelby’s house. I mentally made a note to shoo away any fleeting thoughts. I closed the directory and walked back over to the librarian. “Thank you, I’ve finished with it.”

I saw Henry through the haberdashery storefront window, and I waved at him. He was currently helping a customer, so only gave a knowing nod. I went inside, the bell tinkling my entrance. Henry’s father greeted me enthusiastically. “Moli! Have you eaten yet? Did your father finally get that silk shipment from India?”

“Uncle, I am fine, thank you for asking. Because of the uprisings against British rule lately, father’s shipments from India have been indefinitely delayed. He’s not sure what to do right now.” Henry’s father nodded knowingly.

“I have a Chinese contact that’s reliable if your father wants to change suppliers.”

“I’ll let him know.”

Henry had finished with his customer, and was putting on his coat. “Dad, I’m going with Mollie to the teashop on Bradford. Be back in about an hour?”

Henry’s father nodded and waved us off.

As we walked, I started to recount what had happened, including the index card.

Henry was shaking his head as we sat down at the teashop. The waitress took our orders for a pot of pu-erh and jasmine green tea.

“Mollie, the Shelbys are murderers, thieves, and rapists. You should have left the book at Tommy’s. You’ve heard of the Peaky Blinders gang? They run that gang.”

I looked at the table. It was evident that I had been too naive.

“You know why they don’t pay for anything they take from our shops? Because they’ve threatened to burn the whole street down before. Some shops even have to pay for the pleasure of not being burned down. I would even bet you this tea shop also pays for Peaky Blinders protection.” The waitress arrived with our teas.

I wrapped my hands around the cup, feeling the warmth. “I should be more careful.”

Henry leaned in. “I’ve also heard that they visit the Fujianese prostitutes regularly and bribe local officials with them. They don’t treat them nicely, either, sometimes they beat the women.” He sipped some tea, and sighed heavily, sinking into his chair.

“Father did tell me most of the women they were in contact with are whores, I wonder if he heard about the prostitutes too.”

“It’s common knowledge amongst the Chinese shopkeepers, at least. We need to protect our own. The more information, the better…” Henry’s eyes became distant. “Mollie, have you ever thought of what you want to do once our parents get too old?”

“I thought I’d continue the shop on my own.”

Henry gave a half smile. “What a dutiful daughter.” He shook his head. “I just don’t want to be under someone’s thumb like we are under the Shelbys’. I don’t want to be 60 like my parents and be making Tommy a hat at 2am because he suddenly needed one. They should be resting and not be scared every time a Peaky Blinders member orders something.”

I shifted in my seat guiltily. I should have helped my parents with that jacket. “What do you want to do then?”

“I’ve thought of giving up the haberdashery and going to college. A proper one. I've been thinking maybe even a medical college.”

“You’ve always been a very good student, I’m sure you would do well.”

“Mollie, you were always better than me in school. Shouldn’t you be the one aiming for more schooling?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “The shop just always needed help, and I think my parents have wanted me to continue the shop.”

Henry again lowered his voice. “Have your parents started talking about marriage?”

“No, they haven’t,” I said. “But it must be coming sooner or later. Did you hear about Lizzie’s marriage to Lee? I heard it was a shotgun marriage after Lee got her pregnant.”

“I’m pretty certain that it was shotgun. Danny went to the wedding, and told me they hate each other and couldn’t get through the wedding reception without screaming at each other.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Dad hasn’t said much to me, but mum has been raising hints about sending me on matchmaking dates.”

“Doesn’t your mum have a soft spot for the Guo family? With that girl who is so very proud of learning the violin and shows it off at every gathering and sounds awful?”

Henry chuckled. “Yes, mum has mentioned her more than once lately. I think her family might be invited round for dinner soon, too. Maybe I can make mum mad by talking to the younger daughter more.”

We continued to swap more of the lighthearted gossip that we had heard until both of us started to laugh more freely. I paid for the tea, and handed him the money to pay him back for the chicken. “Thank you, Henry. I promise to more careful around the Shelbys.”

After I said that sentence, the air suddenly seemed to freeze. I looked around. The teashop patrons had stopped talking. A dark-haired woman with tall boots and a decisive stride had walked in, and was standing at the counter being helped. I recognized her suit jacket and skirt, it was sewn by my mother in a light gray wool.

Henry seized my arm. “Let’s go,” he whispered. As soon as we walked outside, he hissed, “That was Polly Shelby. For some reason she likes the egg tarts here so she stops in every so often. Another Shelby you do not cross. She may be a woman, but she is every bit as ruthless."

Henry dropped me off at the shop. I continued my work until dinner.

After dinner, I had some time to think about what Henry had said. I never had really thought about what I wanted to with my future, and my parents had never said anything to me. Though not compulsory by law, they had allowed me to attend school until I was 18. A few of my classmates went on to college, generally the ones from wealthier families, but never the Chinese-English ones, they went directly to work in their family’s business, as had Henry and I.

I would have to think more about this, seriously. In the meantime, I would do my best to avoid the Shelbys. I had done so in the past except for the last few days. I could return to the earlier status quo.

I read a few more chapters from _Jane Eyre_ before I drifted off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a while since I had finished _Jane Eyre_ , and I had moved on to _Wuthering Heights_ , and _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall_. I think I still liked Mr. Darcy, best of all, though.

Henry had gone on a few matchmaking dates as his mum had threateningly hinted. When I asked him about it, he usually shrugged. They were nice girls, from nice families, but he thought they were dull, primed by their families to marry into another and bear children. I told him it was only the first impression, and perhaps they were too shy to show their true selves on a matchmaking date, especially when both sets of parents had also attended.

Henry only grinned mischievously in response.

I watched my parents worriedly, waiting for when they would start broaching these topics. Already, some parents whose sons I knew had visited the shop and pointedly looked at me. I hid myself in the sewing room as often as possible.

It seemed like they did not have it on their minds, and if they did, they never spoke about it to me.

May Liu, one of the neighborhood Chinese girls, had turned 18, and also had recently gotten engaged. To celebrate, her family was throwing her a large party at their manor outside of Birmingham. She was part of a wealthy family that made its fortune on fine china and tea imports, and her fiancee’s family was in the shipping business in London. If anything, a convenient political union, I thought. May had always been kind to me, though we never were close. Her mind was always full of finery and finding a beau. She ordered dresses, and I made them for her.

I had cut for her a dusty rose-colored shawl made of heavy Persian brocade as a gift. It was extravagant, but my parents had insisted. I wrapped it in a light pink box, with a large yellow ribbon.

Henry picked me up after a few minutes. Because the manor was quite far away, he had borrowed his father’s automobile for the trip. As he stopped in front of the shop, he got out of the automobile, placed my box in the trunk, and offered his hand to help me into the vehicle. “Thank you,” I said. Henry took a short glance at my outfit. “Nice dress, Mollie. Did you sew it?”

I nodded. “Yes, I saw Jie using this pattern the other month, and we had some extra black spun jersey left over.”

“It looks very soft,” Henry chuckled. “I know how you are about your comfort.”

The day was cold, but crisp. After about twenty minutes, we arrived to the handsome tan and gray country manor the Lius called home. We pulled up to the front drive, and Henry handed the keys to the valet. We dropped off our gifts on the designated table, and made our way to the main parlor, where the festivities were being held. May was easily spotted, wearing a brilliant headdress filled with red and black feathers. Her entire dress shimmered as she moved.

We walked over to her, and she immediately spotted us. “Henry! You look dashing! Mollie, pretty as always!” She was smiling widely. “You must meet Louis!” She looked to her fiancee, standing next to her. “Louis, this is Mollie and Henry from my neighborhood. Mollie's parents own a tailor's shop and Henry's parents own a haberdashery.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Louis shook Henry’s hand and tipped his hat at me. He immediately engaged in Henry in talking about the size and shape of his current hat.

May playfully rolled her eyes. In a theatrical whisper, she said to me, “Louis loves his hats. He was ever so excited to meet Henry!” May took my arm, her whisper growing conspiratorially even lower. “But what’s this I hear about you and Tommy Shelby? Are you betraying your dear Henry?”

I looked at May, somewhat lost for words.

May laughed. “You know I like to tease you. But, let’s talk later? You and I in confidence?”

I nodded.

A lot of friends I had not talked to in a while had come to the party. I was glad to have some time to speak to them, and bask in the general happiness of everyone dancing, eating, laughing. It soon reached eight o’clock, without my noticing it. Henry had been dancing a set with Lucy Guo, which I made a mental note to tease him about and ask whether he had indeed grown a soft spot for her horrible violin. After the set was finished, I came up to Henry and asked him whether we should consider leaving soon. “One more dance?” Henry said. He held out his hand to me.

I shook my head. “I think I should find May.”

After I said that, someone had seized my hand. “Dear Mollie, you weren’t arranging to leave without having a chat with your oldest friend May, right?” May seemed a little bit inebriated. “You wouldn’t mind if Cara and Lucy joined us, do you?” They shortly caught up with May, their faces also shining, smiles beaming. I suspected they too were somewhat inebriated.

“No, of course I don't mind, it’s your birthday.”

“Capital answer! Let’s go to the library for a nice girls’ chat, shall we?”

As soon as we had burst into the library and closed the door, May said, “So what’s this about you visiting Tommy Shelby’s house?”

Lucy followed up. “Twice!”

I looked around their faces in panic. Did Henry say something?

May discerned my worry. “No, Henry would never tell us. We had to rely on our aunties from the neighborhood who saw you walking around parts of Birmingham you shouldn’t have, naughty girl!”

Cara guffawed. “Imagine Mollie, naughty!” Cara was also from one of the wealthier families, but I had never really talked much with her. She had discontinued schooling after 16, and was now a socialite.

May shushed them. “Let Mollie speak!”

I paused for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. “It was just an unlucky coincidence. I had some errands to run for the shop, and I had to go to Thomas Shelby’s house for them.”

“Your parents would never allow that, your father would have just gone in your stead if that was true!” May said. I did not deny it.

“But! That aside, you saw inside Tommy Shelby’s house!” Lucy said. “What was it like? Was anyone there?”

“Um, I don’t really recall. It was rather normal, I guess? It kind of looks like May’s residence. Modern and elegant? I don’t think anyone else was home besides Mr. Shelby.”

Cara sighed. “I can’t even imagine being alone in a house with him. I feel like I wouldn’t be able to contain myself…”

Lucy nodded vigorously in acknowledgement. “I’ve seen him in The Garrison before, and he’s just so handsome… sometimes I go just to catch a glimpse of his face. I don’t think he ever notices me.”

“Maybe if you dress a little less modestly.” May laughed. “I’ve heard he does frequent prostitutes, so he is a man of lust, like all men. The war hasn’t totally killed him off. Mollie sews dresses, maybe she can make something risqué for you.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “Would you, really?”

“Sure,” I said. “Stop by the shop sometime? But say… what do you think of Henry, Lucy?”

Lucy shook her head, her cheeks rosy pink. “I’m not sure why my mum keeps mentioning Henry to me. He’s nice and all, not ugly, and I suppose his family business is steady… but give me Tommy Shelby or give me spinsterhood!”

We all laughed, it sounded too ridiculous, but Lucy looked determined. May looked around dramatically. “Can you keep a secret, ladies?” She took a deep breath. “This was about a year ago, and I haven’t told anyone about this. Remember when my father bought a share in a horse last year at the Wolverhampton Grand Prix? In the afternoon soiree, Tommy Shelby propositioned me! He offered me eight pounds for me to open my legs.”

I was shocked, and Lucy could only gape her mouth blankly.

May flipped her hair authoritatively. “Of course, I am not worth eight pounds, and I was offended to think that my outfit even suggested that I could be bought by that amount of money. Though, it was, by my own admittance, a little risqué around the breast area…” May winked. “And then I hear, little modest Mollie has caught his attention? Even two visits to his private residence?”

I blushed. “Nothing like that happened. He had some clothes that needed washing and ironing.”

“I believe you, Molly,” May said, smiling. She leaned in, her smile fading a little. “But be careful around Tommy, dearest. You’re not someone who should experience what cruelty men like Tommy Shelby are capable of.”

The door to the library opened. “I’ve been looking for you for ages,” Henry said. “Here you are, gossiping like a bunch of grandmothers at early morning dim sum!”

I embraced May goodbye, and promised to visit her at length again later that month. Henry and I headed back to Birmingham.

“You should know, Lucy doesn’t really like you,” I said. “Her one love is actually Thomas Shelby.”

“Ah yes, the brooding, mysterious bad boy. How can I compete with that?”

We both settled into a silence. The road was bumpy, and there was little light on the road. As we passed into the city limits, a thought sprang into my head.

“Henry?”

“Yes?”

“Have you thought more about becoming a doctor?”

“Not really, it’s been busy at the haberdashery. But, I’ve gone to the library to look up some universities that offer scholarships. I don’t think my parents could afford to pay for me for the entire schooling, anyway.”

“Can I take a look at your list?”

“Sure, come by any time to the haberdashery, and we can look at it together.”

He dropped me off at the shop, and I bid him good night.


	6. Chapter 6

I woke up with a slight headache. I probably had drank a little too much wine last night. While pleasant, I didn’t grow up drinking wine, so my tolerance was not so high.

I rolled over in bed, there were a few minutes before I had to really get up. Henry’s parting words had made an impression on me. I had always thought about more schooling as something that was out of reach and so never had thought about it seriously. But Henry’s talk about finding a scholarship made me feel anxious. I wanted to know more, but at the same time, I wondered how I’d talk to my parents about it. There was always some unspoken rule to never speak about things like this until my parents initiated.

I got up and got dressed. There wasn’t anything in particular that I needed to do today, other than continue some of my embroidery projects. I’d go see Henry sometime that afternoon as a break.

“Good morning, mother and father,” I said as I entered the kitchen. A bowl of porridge was already set at my seat. I sat down and ate a spoonful. “Would it be all right if I visit Henry in the afternoon as a break?”

My parents exchanged glances as they sat down to breakfast as well. “Should be fine,” father said. “How was the party at the Liu’s last night?”

“It was good. Her fiancé is quite nice and gentlemanly.”

“Should be, coming from his sort of family,” my mother observed. “Say, do you think Henry will get married soon?”

“With whom?” I asked, a little surprised.

My mother shook her head. “At every possible moment, his mother has been talking about Henry seeing Lucy.”

I laughed. “I don’t think Henry is interested in her.”

“Is that right?” My mother said, pausing a little to look at me. It felt uncomfortable, so I hurried in finishing my breakfast, and I went to the shop to open it up for the day.

I saw a customer waiting at the door. I hurried to open it. “My apologies for your wait, we usually open at eight.” I looked pointedly at the clock behind me, which read 7:32am.

“I know that,” the customer said, all the while looking at me rapidly up and down. I caught my breath, the smart-looking, critical woman standing in front of me was Polly Shelby. “I require your help.”

My parents were just coming into the shop. “Ms. Shelby!” My father exclaimed, “How may we help you today? A new dress?”

“Not today. I am here to engage Miss…” she looked at me pointedly.

“Mollie?” I said.

“… Miss Mollie as a domestic attendant in my residence.” Polly pressed a card into my hand. “Do not be late.”

Polly left, the door clanging behind her. My parents were frozen.

“Moli?” my mother said weakly. “Did you ever talk to Polly Shelby before?”

“No,” I swallowed, mind racing on whether this was related to the unfortunate interactions I had with Thomas Shelby. He knew that I could wash laundry and sew clothes, but that was it. Even if he wanted me to do that for him, why couldn’t the Shelbys just come to the shop for those services? Why couldn’t they just employ the washerwomen down the street they regularly use?

My father shook his head. “No, Moli has never dealt with Polly Shelby before.” He exhaled. “This wouldn’t be Thomas Shelby’s doing, would it? Moli took his measurements last week for that herringbone jacket.” Leaning against the counter, my father put his head in his hands, trying to steady himself. “But he didn’t seem displeased by the jacket. We’ve always done good work for the Shelbys. I don’t understand.”

I sat down, trying to process what had happened. The address on the card was to Thomas Shelby’s house. We all knew the rumors about the illegal business that the Shelbys were involved in, but we had never heard anything about prostitution. But, now? My heart sank.

My mother roused herself. “If they truly want a domestic attendant, I’ll go in Moli’s place. I’ll go instead.” Father nodded in silent assent.

It was already past 8, and a customer had come to the shop. I sat over my embroidery, in disordered feelings. I did a few stitches, only to pull them out. Lunchtime came and went, but none of us had appetites. 

The shop bell rang, and my father greeted the tall gentleman wearing a flat cap who had come in. He was carrying a stack of papers. “I’m looking for Miss Mollie Li. She needs to sign her employment contract.”

The man dropped the papers on the counter. My mother hurried to the counter. “No, not Mollie, I’ll go instead, Ning Li. Please!” She grabbed a pen nearby and tried to sign, but the tall man laughed grimly, roughly pushing her away. “Mollie Li only.”

“What happens if I don’t sign it?” I asked the man.

“Consequences,” he said.

“Let me read it,” I said.

“Sure,” he shrugged his shoulders, and went outside to smoke a cigarette.

I sat down, with my parents at my sides. “This contract is offered to Mollie Li to full-time housekeeper of the manor at…” followed by normal boilerplate enumerating ordinary housekeeping duties. “The housekeeper shall receive a salary of 30 pounds a month, subject to a yearly bonus depending on performance…”

My mother gasped. “Thirty pounds a month just for housekeeping?”

I shook my head. “There seems to be a very strict confidentiality agreement after this.” My stomach turned reading it, trying to imagine what situations I would see that would necessitate this.

The tall man had finished his cigarette, and was staring at me through the window. When he caught my eye, he mimed signing, and tapped his watch. He came back inside the shop. “I don’t have all day, Miss Mollie. God awful lucky lass to get 30 pounds a month working as a normal housekeeper, aren’t you? Lucky to be even given a legal contract.” He gave a short bark of laughter.

My father looked defeated. I signed and dated the last page.


	7. Chapter 7

My father and mother walked me to Thomas Shelby’s residence. We spoke little, having already discussed it at length at home. While the Shelbys were involved in extra-legal dealings, they generally honored their above-the-board legal obligations. I memorized the shop phone number, and my parents told me they would install one for the house soon. If I called, they would only be a few streets away. But until then…

Polly Shelby stood alone at the front door. She gave a brief nod, and my parents receded. She opened the door, and I followed her.

I turned to wave a goodbye to my parents.

“Shut the door,” Polly ordered.

The inside of the house was sparsely lit. Polly turned to face me, but I could barely see her face in the darkness.

“You are to be here from 9pm to 9am every night without exception. Every hour, you must check in on Tommy while he is asleep to make sure he is resting properly. The rest of the time you may spend as you please. Understood?”

I thought I would be washing clothes, making breakfast, dusting shelves, but this seemed like something a nurse would do.

“Um…” I said, trying to form my thoughts quickly. “I thought I was to be a housekeeper?”

“Is this something you cannot do?”

“Well, no, I suppose I can? But this type of… housekeeping… might be more suited for a nurse?”

“You’ll have to do.” She said. I think she rolled her eyes, but I couldn’t be sure in the darkness. She pulled out a card from one of her dress pockets. “Here are the numbers that you can call immediately if any issues arise.”

I took it, and I squinted at it in the half darkness. A number to a doctor, a pharmacist, to Polly.

“Let me show you to your room,” Polly said. We went upstairs and she led me into a room to the left of the staircase. It was a large room and decorated very richly, with its own en-suite bathroom.

“I hope you’re satisfied with your lodgings,” Polly remarked sarcastically. I expected servant’s quarters or something a little more modest. “Tommy is right across the hallway. There is a servant’s quarter in the back where you may use the kitchen and other rooms, I’ll leave you to discover that. I’ve already wasted enough time.”

She walked to the doorway, and then upon a moment of consideration, she turned, and said, “You’ve heard foxes screaming before, haven’t you? Being in Birmingham.”

I nodded.

“They scream, and scream. But that’s all they do.” Polly pursed her lips. “Mollie, is it? I wish you ample luck.”

She left. I heard her steps going down the staircase. I sat down on the bed, putting my suitcase on the floor for the first time.

It took a few moments to gather my wits, but once I did, I realized I had no idea how I should be approaching my “job”. When would he go to bed? Could I just walk into his bedroom at every hour? How would I know when he would wake up? What exactly was an issue that I had to be looking out for?

I stood up and went to the door. But once I came into the dark hallway, I froze. It felt too cavernous and oppressive to be able to shout “Ms. Shelby!” I heard the front door close softly in the background. Polly Shelby was gone, and I heard a new, heavier set of footsteps in the background, coming up the stairs.

I hurriedly retreated to my room, scared. The door creaked open, and Thomas Shelby stepped inside. I stood up immediately.

“Washer girl, what are you doing in my house?” his lips curled into a smile, but did not reach his eyes. He held a book in his hands, and he motioned for me to take it from him.

“Twenty minutes from now.” His eyes flicked to his room.

I took the book. It was _Jane Eyre_.

He left.

I went back to sitting on my bed, anxiously watching the clock. If I was to check on him every hour, did that mean I shouldn’t sleep during the night? Should I set an alarm and sleep fitfully instead? I rubbed my eyes woefully, this would be around the time I would be setting my affairs in order for the next day.

At the appointed time, I cautiously stepped into his room. He was already in his bed clothes, sitting on a chair besides a window, smoking a pipe. He noticed me, took a few more puffs and set the pipe down on the small table next to him. The air was heavy and sweet. He pointed to a chair next to him.

I couldn’t help but cough, clutching the book to my chest.

He got under the covers of his bed, several feet away from the window, and closed his eyes. “Read,” he said.

“Did you have a part that you wanted to start from?”

He exhaled, some smoke still leaving his mouth.

“The beginning.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This "day" corresponds with Season 1, Episode 2.

I couldn’t shake the nervousness from my voice, and I stumbled over the words. The silence from him was excruciating until I realized he did eventually drift to sleep. I could hear soft, even breathing, even though I did not dare to look him in the face.

I thought that was the worst of it, and went to my room to collect myself.

I decided at least for the first night I would stay up, and wondered if there was any coffee around that I might drink to help me keep awake. As silently as I could, I walked towards the servant’s quarters at the end of the hallway to do a bit of rummaging before I had to check in on Thomas.

The servant’s quarters were sparsely furnished in comparison to the rest of the house. There was an old bag of ground coffee and a rudimentary drip coffee maker. I’d just have to boil a bit of water, and I’d have some second-rate caffeine. I checked my wristwatch, it was just about time to check in on him.

I slowly cracked open the door, afraid of waking Thomas up. I saw that my fear was misplaced, he was already up. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, breathing heavily, hair askew.

“Mr. Shelby? Is everything all right? Can I get anything for you?”

His head whipped in my direction, his irises dancing wildly. “No,” he barked. “Get the fuck away from me.”

I hesitated, remembering the card with phone numbers. “I can call your doctor if you wish… or maybe Ms. Shelby?”

“I don’t need _Polly_ ,” he said. “I need a drink.”

He met my eyes briefly. “Office,” he said, and I understood, and hurried downstairs.

I grabbed the first bottle I found, but all the glasses were dirty in his office. I wasn’t sure if Thomas was the type to care, but in case he was, I hurried to the kitchen to fetch a clean glass. I went upstairs again after a few minutes to see Thomas putting on a long overcoat.

“Where’s my drink?” he said. I poured him the drink, and he swilled it down quickly.

“Get out of my way,” he pushed me aside and went outside the door. In a few moments, I heard the front door opening and closing.

I had no idea what I should have done. Should I have stopped him? I shook my head. I could not have, anyway, if I wanted to. Should I wait until he came back? Probably? I should probably make that coffee.

To busy my hands, I unpacked, I made the coffee, I cleaned the dirty glasses, until I didn’t know what to do. The hours waxed until it was very nearly early morning. I sat on the settee near the entrance to wait for him. Maybe tomorrow I’d go to the library in my free time to borrow some books. The contract didn’t prevent me from doing embroidery for the shop, perhaps I’d get my projects from the shop… anything to fill these empty hours of waiting and darkness…

I dozed fitfully until Thomas came back at six in the morning, looking disheveled and smelling of drink. He stumbled a little, and I rose to support him, but he recoiled from my arm.

Heading up the stairs, he turned to look at me. “Washer girl, aren’t you shirking your duty?”

I headed up after him, almost tripping over his overcoat which he left lying in the hallway. I picked it up and hung it in his wardrobe. He sat in his bed, and attempted to sleep but I rushed to him to remove his shoes. He half-heartedly protested. Once they were off, he lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

I stood there, looking at him, unsure. He had been drinking all night, it was clear. He could be volatile, he could be docile, I didn’t know.

With some difficulty, I pulled out the blanket underneath him and tucked him in underneath the covers. I went to the chair and took up the copy of _Jane Eyre_. I read no more than a few paragraphs and realized his breathing was falling in regular intervals.

I was relieved he had come back, but slightly worried that I hadn’t followed Polly’s order to make sure he was “resting properly”. I had some money with me, so I resolved to run quickly to the Chinese medicinal shop to brew some tea to help with his likely splitting headache in the morning. A Shelby or not, Thomas was not a young man anymore.

I prepared the tea, and went upstairs with the brewed concoction, sitting quietly until he woke up.

He stirred around nine. I took the opportunity to say, “Good morning, Mr. Shelby.”

He did a half double-take, until a ray of sunlight hit his eyes. He winced. “Oh fuck me, how long have you been there?”

“Not long, sir,” I said, though the truth was more like an hour and a half.

“Did you know it’s not polite to watch people sleep? Especially a Shelby who sleeps with multiple guns at his side?” his eyes squinted, and he slumped back into his pillow.

“Mr. Shelby, I’ve prepared some water for you to drink, and brewed a Chinese medicinal tea to help your headache.” I pointed to the two glasses on his nightstand.

He sat up. “How can I trust that your Chinese tea won’t make me more ill?” He lifted his piercing blue eyes to mine, and I instinctively looked away.

“I can’t vouch for it myself, but my friends frequently use it for their own hangovers. Just a warning, it is bitter.”

He drank the water. “Friends?” he said.

“Yes, one of them is May Liu, I’ve heard you met her once,” I said.

His face was inscrutable. He took a breath and drank the bitter tea. “That was miserable. We’ll see if you still have your job in a few hours,” he said.

“I’m happy that you’re up and feeling better,” I said. “Mr. Shelby, I’ll excuse myself for now, unless you need me for any other errands.”

I said the last part very quickly, at the same time moving to the door, trying to preclude any response. I heard the bathroom sink faucet running, it seemed like he was preoccupied with his own matters.

Contrary to what I did for Thomas, I collapsed into my bed and did not take off my own shoes. I feel into a deep, though fitful, sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline corresponds roughly to the first 10-15 minutes of Season 1, Episode 3.

I woke up suddenly. I was underneath the covers and my shoes were removed, and a tray of toast with some butter and jam were set out on the nightstand next to me. I checked the clock hanging next to the door, it was 4pm.

I still felt tired, but I knew I needed to get up and see my parents for dinner, and run some errands before I came back at night. I also wanted to find out who had given me the breakfast and tucked me in. I felt sure it was not Thomas, most likely the same servant who prepared Thomas’ breakfast, perhaps? Though, I suppose, if I ate it at 4pm, it was not really a breakfast.

I brushed my hair and put on my dress, and drank some water from the glass on the nightstand. I quickly devoured the toast, and set the dirty plates aside for now.

I opened the door gently, not wanting to attract notice, but it seemed like I should not have worried. It was silent in the house, except for the creaking of the floorboards as I walked. Though it was still daylight outside, the house seemed dark, flanked by all the heavy drapery at its windows.

I quickly checked the servant’s kitchen area to see if there was anyone, even saying “Hello?” a few times, but there was no reply. There was some signs of life, however, a loaf of bread was set out on the table, presumably the same loaf that was used for the toast.

I left the house, locking the door behind me. As I walked briskly to the shop, I felt with each step, a weight lessen. That house was oppressive, and my first night had gone terribly… I resolved not to tell my parents about it, they would worry.

My parents were surprised to see me open the door. “Moli!” they exclaimed, coming over to hug me.

“I’m allowed to run errands during the day when Mr. Shelby isn’t around,” I said.

“What did he have you do?” my mother asked, her voice wavering a little.

“Not much, just cleaning some dishes and helping organize his… library.” I faltered a little, trying to think of something. “But mother, you know I signed that non-disclosure, I’m not allowed to speak about it.”

“Right, right,” my mother hung her head. “Can you join us for dinner?”

“I can join you for dinner every day,” I said, trying to smile a little. My parents smiled back, a little.

From the shop, I took an embroidery project, and I took the latest book I had borrowed, Edith Wharton’s _The House of Mirth_ , and _A Doctor’s Education: a Guide to Medical Schools._ I didn’t have the time to go with Henry to the library like I had promised but I still borrowed the latter book out of curiosity and hoping to support Henry with any knowledge I managed to learn.

I was also aware of my stickiness due to the panic-induced sweat I had last night, so I also brought with me a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo. I intended to bathe tonight before I had to tend to Thomas. Luckily, the en-suite bathroom was modern and had a large bathtub with a shower head with running hot water. I dried myself with the towels provided. My hair was still damp, but I thought it would dry by the time I saw him.

I glanced up at the clock, it was 8:30pm already. My bed had been made since leaving it in disarray this morning, and the dirty dishes were gone. It was definitely another servant, I made a mental note to stay up that morning so I could meet them. I sat in a sofa across from the bed, turning the pages to _The House of Mirth_ without really reading. I could hear footsteps echoing around the house, they were quick but heavy at some points, I imagined it would be Thomas. Those same footsteps came up the stairs, and I heard the door open opposite to my room.

I put down my book and fetched the copy of _Jane Eyre_. The door was ajar slightly, I knocked.

“Come in,” he said. He was in the bathroom, changing into his bedclothes. I averted my eyes. “Good evening, Mr. Shelby.”

“Do you have it?” he said, a few moments later, his voice closer. I looked up, and found him gazing at my hands and the book. His eyes traveled up to my face, resting on my hair pulled back into a still damp bun. “You smell like soap.”

I just looked at him silently, though he seemed like he was expecting a response. He got into bed, and exhaled, closing his eyes. I sat down in the chair next to the window. He exhaled again, his hand motioning me to come closer. “Bring your chair closer over here,” he said, his hand gesturing to his bedside. I picked up the chair and set it down beside him.

“Have you ever been to the races?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Are you speaking of horse races?”

“You’ve got no clue, haven’t you? The horses aren’t really what’s important, anyway,” he shifted slightly, his face facing away from me. “Just a naive little washer girl after all. Read.”

I read for about ten minutes, when I started to hear the deep, even breathing. I stopped to listen more clearly but was taken aback when he suddenly turned to face me. His eyes were open.

“This morning, when you gave me that concoction…” he said.

I nodded.

“Do you know of anything that might help with sleeping?” he asked, his voice unusually soft.

“Something that’s not opium?”

His lips upturned a little. “Yes.” I looked back down at my book. I wasn’t as naive as he thought.

“I would be happy to inquire for you, Mr. Shelby.”

“Make it discreet.” He lay on his back, and closed his eyes again. “Keep reading,” he said.

He drifted off to sleep in about 20 minutes, I was sure as I could watch his gentle breathing this time. I put down _Jane Eyre_ , and went back to my room to start taking notes from _A Doctor’s Education_.


End file.
